Inexplicable Sangheili Incidents 101
by nineteen
Summary: The Master Chief and co discover the hidden secrets of their seemingly merciless enemy the Covenant. Rated T for weird stuff. Chapter 3 up, but don't read if you hate introductions.
1. The Morning After

_Random talks with friends at 2 a.m. in the frigging morning lead to this. By the way, I don't, in any way, own Halo, the Master Chief, or any related characters/items/etc--those belong to the good blokes at Bungie. All that aside, please enjoy.  
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He suddenly became aware that he wasn't where he was supposed to be.

Eyes still closed, Master Chief felt around himself, but all he could grasp was that he was face-down in a patch of grass. _Real helpful._ He tried to open his eyes and immediately squeezed them shut. There was this insane, throbbing pain in the back of his head. Moving seemed impossible, and breathing was out of the question. A quick search in his mind for answers turned up blank.

_What... the hell happened?_ was all that he could come up with. He continued to feel around his surroundings, and grasped a load of vodka bottles. _Oh... right... _

Finally, the Chief managed to force his eyelids open. Through his visor, which automatically adjusted to the 12 a.m. dark, he saw Sergeant Johnson propped up against a tree, covered in mustard... and pants down. There was a stereo next to him with "It's Raining Men" playing too loudly. Master Chief quickly averted his eyes to the right. Cortana, in full body form, slept on her side while clutching a mutated cyborg bunny as if it were her long lost lover. The other Marines were laying around–most of them had flowers drawn on their asses, but some were sucking on Johnson's head in their sleep. It wasn't a pretty sight.

_I don't want to know how _that_ happened,_ Chief thought painfully. The throbbing grew worse. He attempted to pick himself up off the ground but failed and rolled over, flailing, like a one-legged possum. And wouldn't you know it, there was a group of fifteen Elites standing over him. They all gasped. "THE DEMON HAS AWAKENED!" Then, they began to poke him with sporks.

"Agh! Why must you poke me with sporks!And how did you get those, anyways?" asked the Chief. One of them jumped back. "OMGZ IT TALKS!" it squealed. The other Elites followed the pattern, and the squeal spread like a wave. Master Chief winced. This didn't look too good for him.

"It is the one we've been waiting for! The holy crusade has begun! Come, brothers!" bellowed another alien by the name of 'Vasumee.. The Elites stood there, staring. One of them shrugged and smacked the Chief over the head with his spork, somehow knocking him out. So much for advanced armor.

He woke once again, but this time he was tied to a post in the middle of a large clearing. Flaming ponies stood around him, somehow not responding to the fire consuming them. The Chief wondered yet again just how the Elites obtained those ponies. Just then, 'Vasumee, sporting a long, black robe, stepped out of the bushes and cried, "The sacrifice is prepared! Let the ritual begin!"

One of his "brothers" poked his head out of the bushes and asked skeptically, "You're sure the sacrifice is a virgin, right?"

"Yes, Betty. It is."

"Okay, I'm just asking, because last time you..."

"DAMMIT BETTY! Just get the others out here!"

The one called Betty shrunk back into the shadows. A moment later, the clearing exploded with numerous Elites, all of them wearing the same black coat. They circled each-other and danced a strange Irish jig, then collected themselves and took their respected places around the post. Master Chief heaved a sigh. He knew this was going to be painful.

"The planets are aligned, and the time is right," began 'Vasumee. "Now is when we must celebrate our differences from other warriors." He paused, his eyes gleaming as he smiled harshly at Master Chief. "COMMENCE THE ... uhh... the..."

"The pow-wow!" another Elite cried.

"NO! The... ritual... thing. If I hear another word about pow-wows from you, Michael, I'll..."

The one called Michael burst into tears. His surrounding Elites comforted him and shot accusing glares at 'Vasumee. 'Vasumee, in return, made this noise that sounded like a cow giving birth to the cthulu. "Oh, my Prophet. To be cursed with such imbeciles... shit, let's just START already!" 'Vasumee roared.

The Elites composed themselves and took their places once again. As they fumbled with their robes, Master Chief felt a lump rising in his throat. Being called a "sacrifice" didn't sound like his idea of fun. He found himself saying, "Hey, umm, maybe we can work this out. If you guys let me go, I can give you a trip to...uhhh.. Florida! Yeah, where those sharks eat all the old people? It's a really nice–AUGHHH!"

The Chief had made his offer too late. The Elites cast off their robes... and every single one wore pink, frilly panties stretched tight across their crotchal area. And, happy to obey his gag reflex, Master Chief barfed all over the place–exempting the fact that his helmet was sealed on his head, so vomit stained the visor, making it impossible to see. He sighed gratefully. The stench was worth it.

"**Activating cleanup.exe,"** chimed a mechanical voice inside his helmet. And, unfortunately for him, little windshield wipers appeared and cleaned the chunks of nutrient packs away.

"CRAP! Don't do that!" the Chief screamed at nothing in particular. Lysol emitted from the side of the helmet, spraying a lemony-fresh scent that leaves your vomit smelling oh-so-good.

Just as he regain his vision, the Elites boarded the flaming ponies (still existent) and jumped on them as if they were playing Dance Dance Revolution at the local arcade, depleting the last of the Chief's sanity (non-existent). All of the Elites laughed and squealed like little schoolgirls.

The Chief flailed, but he couldn't break free of the flimsy ropes that bound him to the post. _Damn, _he thought. _Wasting my fricking life away in Spartan School for this._

It was going to be a long night.


	2. Desecration

The mutated cyborg bunny let out a horrible screech, like a panda bear on crack. It leaped out of Cortana's arms and made a beeline for anywhere 10,000 miles between him and the (somehow) intoxicated AI. "No, baby, don't go," Cortana mumbled in her sleep. She groped for her lover but found only Marines and mustard. She snapped awake and looked around her. Somehow they were off the ship and most of the others were slathered in the yellow paste. Cortana attempted to wake the others, especially the ones sucking on Johnson's head, but to no avail. She had one option.

"GET UP, YOU LAZY SONS OF BITCHES!" she screamed in her trademark uber-nag voice. The Marines rose immediately, at attention. Some of them looked down and noticed flowers tattooed on them in strange places, and fixed their pants. Johnson, more than a little embarrassed, told off the Marines for slacking and substance abuse. He was greeted only by snickers, due to saliva dripping from his head and mustard infesting his skin. There was only one way to react to this situation: flail your arms, run around and make monkey noises. He did just that, but tripped over his pants during the second step. Cortana snorted.

Finally, after much giggling and pointing, and not to mention nagging from Cortana, someone asked, "Where's the Chief?"

No response.

Cortana made a sound similar to 'Vasumee's earlier, only this time it was more like a cow giving birth to a truck. "Well, not only are we all plastered, but now we're missing our only Spartan. No matter... you guys are going to FIND him, whether you're sober enough to walk or not." The Marines groaned in frustration.

Meanwhile, back at the "ritual"... the Elites had changed their pattern, and now, instead of a tribal jig, they had changed to a traditional ballet. Orchestral music, with an unknown source, came out of nowhere. The Chief was hanging on the edge of his sanity.

Suddenly, a Warthog drove up and smashed into a couple of Elites. The rest squealed and pranced away, still keeping in time with the source-less music. John breathed a sigh of relief and surveyed the 'Hog. For some reason, its normal grey-green color was replaced with hippy-flowers and the words "PEACE" and "LOVE" spray-painted in bad graffiti. A Marine popped his head out of the drivers seat and gave a salute to Master Chief. "Rich Matthews, reporting for duty, Mister Chief sir!" Simultaneously, Matthews stepped on the gas, on accident, and rammed the Warthog into a nearby tree.

The Chief groaned. _Yep. That guy's definitely a Private._

Johnson, with Cortana's chip in hand, and ten other Marines (don't ask me how they all fit in there–I don't know) jumped out of the jeep before it exploded. They all stood and watched as Matthews tumbled out of the wreckage. He gave a salute to Master Chief. "Request permission to react to the excruciating pain in my body, sir!" Even though he was blackened, the marine's enthusiasm didn't seem to be damaged.

"Permission granted."

Matthews blinked for a second, grinning happily, and then rolled over on the floor, screaming like a taquito on fire. John sighed. "So, why are you guys here again?"

Johnson had untied the Chief by now. He was too lazy to answer the question, so instead, he smacked Cortana's chip into the back of the Spartan's helmet. Cortana appeared in full body form and explained, "Well, you went missing after we woke up, so, we went to go look for you."

"Could you have gone any slower? The torture was unbearable."

"What are you talking about?" Cortana asked skeptically. The Chief motioned towards a couple of roadkill Elites, both proudly showcasing pink, frilly panties. "Eww!" she jumped back. "That's... disturbing." The others nodded in agreement.

A cry of fury came from the trees outside the clearing. Out of the shadows stepped 'Vasumee and his other, intact Elites. He wore a look of unfathomable anger. "How DARE you interrupt the sacred dance!" He roared as he pulled out a plasma rifle. His lackeys did the same.

The plasma's blue glow illuminated the human soldiers' terrified faces. Even the Master Chief knew he couldn't get out of this one.


	3. Covenant Dance

He cringed. Blue plasma shots, ready to engulf him, danced on the HUD. He felt the others around him trembling. There was no escape.

A sudden slashing sound came from the Elite's barricade, followed by many a confused "w0rt?" Master Chief opened his eyes; just in time to spot a multi-colored blur of motion silence a group of alien soldiers. The air crackled as what he presumed was an energy sword cut through it. The Chief received his comrades' attention and gestured towards the bushes–he didn't have to wait. Everyone dived behind the natural shelter and breathed a sigh of relief. They were safe... for now.

More slashing. The Elites became blind with fury, and tried to shoot down the mysterious threat. However, this ended up in them shooting their own teammates. Plasma flew through the night sky and, with the help of a few more slices from the sword, soon enough the honorable Sangheili legion lay dead on a blood-stained carpet.

"Pathetic," the Chief uttered.

They all looked around nervously. No sign of the unidentified swordsman. Master Chief slowly stepped out of the bushes and poked at the dead Elites. _Wow... the entire legion was annihilated_, the Chief thought. _Whoever did this is one hell of a soldier._

Master Chief had mistakenly let down his guard at that moment. Had he been paying attention, he would've heard a small fit of excited squealing behind him– and he wouldn't be so damn surprised when a being tackled him. As the Chief slammed into the ground, he panicked and threw a couple of mustard grenades in random directions. These explosions forced a couple of trees to crack and fall to the ground. Families of squirrels poured out of the splintering wood, chittering angrily at the Master Chief. From that moment on, squirrels never liked him that much.

In any case, the Chief was pissed. "The hell are you?" he grumbled angrily at the squealing, tackling, biped creature that was on his back.

It jumped up and stood in front of the straggling Marines. They all looked quizzically at the distorted scenery in front of them–was it another Elite? As it turned off its active camouflage, it became apparent that no other Elites were around–instead, the distortion turned into a blond-haired girl, a little on the short side, holding an energy sword. "I'm code-named Covenant Dance, and I'm a 2nd-class private," she piped up.

"That's great. Now what are you doing on Halo?" Cortana interrupted skeptically.

The freelancer shot Cortana an ugly look, and got on with her story. "I was captured by the Covenant and held in captivity along with some Heretics. We broke free of the prison and have been drifting around this ring-world for a week."

Matthews held up his hand. "Question! Can I have that sword?" he pointed to the glowing energy sword Covenant Dance clutched in her right hand.

"NO. Shut up." She turned back to the Chief and Cortana. "So, I was thinking, maybe I could travel with you guys. You know, we could help you out."

Matthews's hand shot up again. "QUESTION!"

The freelancer's brown eyes flashed a fiery red as she whirled around to the private. "WHAT?" she asked through gritted teeth

"Where are your friends?" he asked innocently.

Suddenly, a small Grunt exploded out of the bushes, both a needler and a human pistol in his oversized hands. Frag grenades, clips of ammo, and varied types of guns clanked together on his belts as he ran up to the Chief and stuck the needler in the direction of the Spartan's face.

"Don't take another step, punk, or I'll blow your head off!" it growled through its breathing apparatus. The Chief blinked, smacked the purple gun out of the Grunt's hand and pointed an assault rifle at its head. It squealed in fright.

Covenant Dance grabbed the terrified Grunt by its methane tank. "DON'T YOU DARE POINT A GUN AT CHIEF!" she yelled at him. The Grunt nodded in reply.

Master Chief inspected the Grunt. It had somehow obtained a black ski-cap, and it had an impressive collection of guns and grenades, accompanied by hundreds of ammo clips, which were all strapped onto belts that were slung over the Grunt's tiny shoulders. Its methane tank seemed to be larger than its brethrens' that the Chief had seen. Before he could make any more assessments, though, a Covenant Elite came sprawling out of the bushes, followed by a massive Hunter. The Chief brought up his Assault Rifle and aimed at the Hunter, hoping to take it down first.

Covenant Dance saw this and shrieked, "Stop! Don't shoot!" at Master Chief.

He lowered the gun quizzically. "Why the hell not! They're about to attack us!"

The Spartan looked over and watched the Elite, who had successfully made his way to the Grunt. It picked up the small creature and squeezed it so hard, the Chief thought the little thing might explode.

"Robby! What were you thinking! You coulda been killed!" it cried in amazingly understandable human English. Oddly enough, the Elite paused, dropped the Grunt, and looked over at Master Chief.

"I forgot to introduce you guys," Covenant Dance smiled. "The Grunt over here is Robby Lee, the rookie Elite is called Reet, and the Hunter is named Biggums."

Biggums growled, most displeased at his nickname.

"Hold on a second, this doesn't make any sense," Cortana mused. "First of all, if you guys are really Heretics, then how come you're in standard Covenant armor?"

"Umm... I dunno," Robby mumbled.

"Second," Cortana pointed to Reet, "if you're just a rookie, then how come you're in black Spec-Ops armor? What about you? I didn't even know the Covenant had Heretic Hunters. And you, the Grunt, where the hell did you get that ski cap? Also, why do you have a bigger methane tank than the others? And why can the three of you speak perfect English?" she prattled on. "Not to mention that you all sprang free of the prison– how did you manage _that_? AND you three opted to cooperate with a human– HEY! STOP THAT!" Cortana yelled suddenly.

Everyone turned to see Reet the Elite (HAHA I RHYME) chewing on a Marine's rifle. The soldier cried out and flailed like a salmon.

"Buh...but... I was hungry..." whined the Elite.

"And _how_ does _that_ fill your stomach?" the Chief asked.

"It's nutritious!" Reet sang.

Before the AI could open her mouth to say anything, Biggums interjected, "No, it's true; at least, for him. In fact, that's how we got out of the prison– Reet ate through the walls."

There was a long pause.

"... _WHAT?_" Cortana screamed.

"Well, whatever. We're following you all, and that's that," Covenant Dance said in response.

_Fuck_, the Chief thought bitterly. _Now I've seen everything._


End file.
